Magic
by Deandra
Summary: After the devastating events of Sixth Year, Harry ponders his future. ONESHOT


_**A/N: I was always impressed with a scene in the first Harry Potter movie that showed Harry sitting in a window, his first night at Hogwarts, Hedwig beside him while his roommates slept. That scene was so evocative of what this boy must be feeling, to find himself so far away from all he had ever known in his life – in a world of magic, with castles and goblins and half-giants. This oneshot is set at the end of 6th year. It is actually sort of a gapfiller between books 6 and 7, and assuming JKR doesn't cover this ground at the beginning of book 7.**_

**Magic**

Harry leaned against the wall, to steady himself against the gentle rocking motion of the train, as he watched Scotland retreating further into the distance.

Six times he had made this trip, each one different, even unforgettable. He remembered as clearly as if it was yesterday the letters arriving, and his uncle's frantic efforts to prevent his reading them. In the end, though, nothing Uncle Vernon could do had stopped his being contacted by Hogwarts, and introduced to a world he'd never dreamed existed.

Since that fateful night when Hagrid appeared, and personally escorted him from his 'family' to begin his new life, unimaginable things had happened. For the first time in his life, he'd had friends, clothes that fit and regular meals. He'd discovered that there were people who actually liked him, unlike his closest relatives, and that there were people who cared about him, to whom he mattered.

On top of those very great pleasures, he had been taught who he really was – a wizard. A rather good one, as it turned out, especially when it came to flying and Quidditch. In that amazing sport he had found himself, he had learned he had skill and ability far beyond waiting upon the Dursleys' every whim. For all but a few months of each year, he was able to escape the horror that was life in the Dursley household and just be himself, among 'his kind of people'.

But not the least of those unimaginable '_things_' was the fact that this mere sixteen-year-old had had numerous attempts made on his life, by numerous people. And likely it had never been so crucial to the very security of the world, both wizarding and Muggle, that he had survived the attacks – and must continue to survive. Harry did not doubt that if Voldemort won this battle, he would wreak havoc on the Muggle world once his control of the magical world was firmly in place.

Because Harry had survived Voldemort's first attempt to kill him when he was yet only a year old – been the only one ever to do so – it fell to him to stand between Voldemort and destruction of all life worth living.

Harry rubbed wearily at his face with both hands. No sixteen-year-old should have to bear such a burden, and largely alone now that Dumbledore was lost. Ron and Hermione tried to support him as best they could, but their knowledge and powers were infinitesimal compared to Voldemort. Most of the time, he knew his own were also but, in his case, there was no option. Others could walk away, close their eyes and hope for the best – that Harry would be successful – but he had no choice. Voldemort would not cease coming after him until either he or Harry was dead.

Despite Ron and Hermione's shortcomings, he was grateful for their devotion to helping him. He would need them beside him in this. Each brought their own unique understanding to the situation, and in many ways Hermione's skill and knowledge of magic far exceeded his own. More than once, it had proven providential to have her beside him.

But what now? Dumbledore, dead. Four Horcruxes remaining, still to be found and destroyed. How had it all come to this? On that long ago night, when first he'd arrived at Hogwarts, he could never have envisioned this day or all of the days that had come between the two. Amidst the joy, there had been terror, and death – death of those dear to him. At times, it almost seemed as if anyone who cared about him was doomed to die, and that he could not prevent it. In the end, he might finally save the world, but how many of those important to him would be lost in the process. Could he bear to face any more deaths? Did he have a choice? He had separated himself from Ginny, not because he didn't love her, but because he did, and he hoped desperately that the distance might somehow keep her alive. If this ever ended in any happy manner, perhaps then he could make up to her the hurt he had caused her.

Tears pricked at his eyes, but he pressed his eyelids hard with his fingertips to prevent their falling. Tears would change nothing. Wishing things were different would change nothing. Voldemort was out there, and only he could stop that growing malice from consuming the world. Somehow, someway he had to find the strength, and the courage, to do what needed to be done.

"Harry?" a voice softly spoke behind him, and he stiffened. "Come be with us," Hermione quietly entreated.

He shook his head, answering, "Not yet. In a little while."

"Harry..." she pursued, "you aren't alone in this. Maybe...maybe we can't do much, but Dumbledore must have thought we could help in some way if he instructed you to tell us about the Horcruxes...and everything." She paused, then added, "Trust him, Harry. He never did anything by chance. I think...I think he suspected he would be killed, and he tried to prepare you for that – to carry on afterwards. And I think he wanted you to have our help."

Her friend nodded. "I know, Hermione. I know all of that, and you're right. But I need some time alone just now. I have to...prepare myself. I can't face the Dursleys unless I'm calm, or I might do something I'll regret."

He turned to gaze at her with pleading eyes, and slowly she inclined her head in acceptance. "All right. Take whatever time you need. Just remember we're there – whenever you need us."

As her footsteps receded down the corridor, he returned to staring out the train's back window and sighed. How long before this would all be over? He had no clue as to the answer for that question, but one thing he did know. He would use every bit of magic he had learned in the past six years, and draw on whatever gifts had been given him by his parents, to win this battle. If he had to die in the course of it, so be it. He just hoped that when it was done, his friends would be safe and the world would be a safe place for them to go on with their lives.

His mother and father had died trying to protect him. He might well die trying to protect those he cared about. He supposed maybe he truly was like them after all. And that was good to know. Maybe life would have been simpler if he had remained at the Dursleys until grown, and then lived the way of the Muggles, but upon reflection he did not think he would have wanted to miss out on any of this. It was what he had been born to be – a wizard. Then, he was The Boy Who Lived. Now, he would be The Wizard Who Lived, and Voldemort would taste defeat once and for all.

THE END

3/19/07


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